


Money, Power, Glory

by MafiaBossPaulHeyman



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M, Mafia AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:19:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4318599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MafiaBossPaulHeyman/pseuds/MafiaBossPaulHeyman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're the head of the New York Mafia, you think you're untouchable. But as Paul Heyman is about to learn, nobody's untouchable here. Not even the Don. Mafia AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A black stretch Cadillac pulled up to the 40-story building, windshield wipers flicking lazily, rapidly, trying to dispel the rain from the windshield. Two black-suited men exited first, one unfolding an umbrella before opening the rear door for their passenger. Normally, these types of people wouldn’t come here, but ever since the overthrow of Don McMahon, the new Godfather had been showing his face around much more often. Local shops and businesses were not used to this level of dedication, and more than one shop owner had been on the receiving end of Don Paul Heyman’s wrath.  
Paul himself stepped from the shiny Cadillac, his loyal right hand man Brock by his side as always. He took the proffered umbrella, kissing his secretary’s cheek before walking through the doors of the building. He looked at Brock and chuckled.  
“Daddy’s home.”

Carly DeSilva smoothed out her silver dress and fluffed her curls before taking the microphone in her hand again, launching into a sultry rendition of Lana Del Rey’s “Off to the Races.” The 23 year-old had been performing in this club for the past 4 years, when Petey Del Rosa pulled her in off the streets and fed her, gave her a home. Carly was forever in his debt for it, and so she sang in his bar for a small pay and to pay her rent.  
Speaking of Petey, there he was at the front door, making sure nobody unsavory entered the place. He kept an eye on her though, as more men started to fill the area.  
Ten minutes later, Carly got offstage and walked over, wrapping her arms around Petey’s neck and giggling.  
“How’d I do tonight, boss?”  
“Excellent as always, my sweet flower,” he said as he kissed her head.  
“Awesome,” she laughed. There was a commotion at the door, and she hid behind him as five men in suits escorted a short, portly man into the club. He was balding, but his hair was slicked back into a rat-tail at the back of his head. He was wearing a crisp grey suit, pinstriped and pressed to perfection.  
Carly was instantly curious, aroused, and in love.  
“Who is that?”, she hissed in Petey’s ear.  
“Don Heyman. Pleasure to see you here in my club, Sir.”

Paul nodded to the owner of the club, taking notice of the attractive raven-tressed woman hiding behind him. He gave her a wink and a smile, and she stood taller, smiling softly back at him.  
“Don Heyman. Pleased to meet you.”  
“The pleasure is mine, Raven-Locks.”  
She blushed scarlet and giggled, and he was hooked on her giggle. It was as intoxicating as his favorite bottle of Four Roses whiskey. He nodded at her and made his way to the bar.  
“Whiskey sour, on ice.”  
Mica, the bartender, nodded quickly and made him the drink, setting it in front of him. He turned in his chair and caught the shamrock-green eyes of the girl again, raising his glass to her.  
“Are we going to hear some more of your singing?”  
“I-If you would like, Don Heyman.”  
He smiled.  
“I would be most pleased.”  
She blushed again and got onstage, taking the microphone.  
“Money is the anthem, of success, so before we go out,  
What's your address?  
I'm your National Anthem, God, you're so handsome  
Take me to the Hamptons Bugatti Veyron  
He loves to romance 'em, reckless abandon, hold me for ransom, upper echelon  
He says to "be cool" but, I don't know how yet, wind in my hair,  
Hand on the back of my neck  
I said, "Can we party later on?" he said, "Yes."  
Tell me I'm your National Anthem  
Ooh yeah baby bow down, makin' me so wild now  
Tell me I'm your National Anthem  
Sugar sugar, how now, take your body downtown  
Red, white, blue's in the skies, summer's in the air and baby, heaven's in your eyes  
I'm your National Anthem  
Money is the reason we exist  
Everybody knows it, it's a fact-kiss, kiss!  
I sing the National Anthem,  
While I'm standing over your body hold you like a python  
And you can't keep your hands off me, or your pants on  
See what you've done to me give me Chevron  
You said to "be cool" but, I'm already coolest  
I said to "get real, don't you know who you're dealing with?"  
Um, do you think you'll buy me lots of diamonds  
Tell me I'm your National Anthem  
Ooh yeah baby bow down, makin' me so wild now  
Tell me I'm your National Anthem  
Sugar sugar, how now, take your body downtown  
Red, white, blue's in the skies, summer's in the air and baby, heaven's in your eyes  
I'm your National Anthem  
It's a love story for the new age,  
For the six page, we're on a quick, sick rampage  
Winin' and dinin', drinkin' and drivin', excessive buyin',  
Overdose and dyin' on our drugs and our love and our dreams and our rage  
Blurrin' the lines between real and the fake  
dark and lonely, I need somebody to hold me  
He will do very well, I can tell, I can tell  
Keep me safe in his bell, tower, hotel  
Money is the anthem of success  
So put on mascara, and your party dress  
I'm your National Anthem, boy put your hands up, give me a standing ovation,  
Boy you have landed, babe in the land of, sweetness and danger, Queen of Saigon  
Tell me I'm your National Anthem Ooh yeah baby bow down, makin' me so wild now  
Tell me I'm your National Anthem Sugar sugar, how now, take your body downtown  
Red, white, blue's in the skies, summer's in the air and baby, heaven's in your eyes  
I'm your National Anthem  
Money is the anthem, God, you're so handsome, money is the anthem,  
Of success  
Money is the anthem, God, you're so handsome, money is the anthem,  
Of success  
Money is the anthem, God, you're so handsome, money is the anthem,  
Of success  
Money is the anthem, God, you're so handsome, money is the anthem,  
Of success.”  
Carly kept her eyes on the Don’s the entire song, giving him an occasional wink and smile. When her song ended, he nodded to her, raising his whiskey again and clapping his hands.  
“Bravo!”  
She bowed and giggled again, getting offstage to join him at the bar.  
“Mica, give me a Tom Collins.”  
He obliged her, and the Don slid money over.  
“I’ll pay for that.”  
“Oh Don Heyman, I couldn’t.”  
“I insist,” he said with a smile. “Allow me?”  
Carly smiled.  
“If you insist.”

Paul was intrigued by the shy woman. So quiet and softspoken, except when she was onstage. There, the words and emotions flowed from her as if she were a storyteller. He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to hear more of her singing.  
He wanted her for his own, by his side in this new regime. She would be the most powerful woman around, she would stand by him and execute his plans, using her femininity and shyness to win over his enemies.  
But was she bloodthirsty enough to do it? Could this woman be as cruel as he was about to become, watch her enemies murdered mercilessly, all with that dazzling smile on her lovely face?  
“Don Heyman?”  
He blinked himself out of his trance and gave her another smile.  
“Sorry, Raven-Locks. Were you saying something?”  
“I was just saying that it’s late, and the bar needs to close soon, so you should get home, or wherever you’re staying.”  
Only if you come with me, he thought to himself.  
“That’s a good idea.”  
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, scribbling something on the back of it before pressing it to her hand, which he lifted to his lips for a kiss.  
“Take care, sweetheart.

Carly sat on the barstool, stunned, still holding his business card in her hand.  
“Flower? You alright?”  
She looked up at Petey, then back at her hand, her eyes unfocused and hazy.  
“What just happened?”  
Petey chuckled and hefted her off of the stool, setting her on her feet.  
“I think you just charmed the new Don of New York, Flower.”  
“But… but why?”  
“Darling, he sees something in you that he likes. Go with it. You need a good man in your life.”  
“But that’s what I have you for.”  
Petey laughed and ruffled her hair.  
“Go see the man.”  
“But…”  
“No buts, Carly DeSilva. Go see the man. He likes something about you.”  
She sighed and nodded.  
“Yes Boss.”


	2. Meeting the Don

Carly walked to the Grand Marquee Hotel, holding her purse above her head. The rain was barely starting to come down, but she was still getting soaked.  
She made it to the hotel and looked at the card, walking up to the front desk, shivering and sniffling.  
"Penthouse, please."  
The desk clerk sneered at her.  
"Who do you need to see in the penthouse?"  
"Don Heyman," Carly said as she slid the card across the desk.  
The clerk took the card from her, glancing at it before tearing it in half and throwing the pieces in her face.  
"Move along, bitch. You think I don't know a whore when I see one? Think you can just fake a business card and waltz in here?"  
Carly steeled herself, lifting her chin in the air and glaring at the clerk.  
"Call him."  
"Carly?"  
She turned to see a thick, muscular man looking at her with regard.  
"Yes?"  
"Paul's been waiting for you," Brock said with a glare to the clerk, who swallowed nervously.  
"S-sir, I had no idea that--"  
"My boss's business card wasn't enough proof?"  
The clerk nearly bit off his tongue.  
"I-I didn't realize-"  
"You didn't think the Don would be interested in some whore, as you so kindly put it?"  
Carly put a hand on his arm.  
"Please, not here. I need to see the Don, remember?"  
Brock nodded, escorting her to the elevator, then turning to give the clerk a warning glare.  
"I'll be sure to tell Don Heyman why she was late."

"You're soaking wet," Brock said in the elevator.  
"It rained," Carly said before sneezing. "Sorry."  
"You're gonna have to change."  
"I didn't bring-"  
"It's taken care of."  
She nodded.  
"Can I ask why he's so interested in me? I mean, I'm nothing special."  
Brock shook his head.  
"I dunno. You'll have to ask him."  
The elevator stopped and Brock led her to the penthouse, giving her a card key.  
She slid it through the scanner and the door opened. Inside was a room unlike anything she could have imagined.  
And on the bed, watching a movie with a glass of whiskey, was Paul.  
He was dressed comfortably in a pair of lounge pants and a tank top, cigar in his mouth. He looked to her and smiled, putting it out in the ashtray and sitting up.  
"Carly. Glad you could make it. I almost thought you weren't going to come."  
She softly blushed.  
"Of course I would. When the Don asks for you, you must have made an impression. But the desk clerk was awful. He called me a whore."  
Paul rolled his eyes and gave Brock a flick of the head.  
Brock nodded and immediately left the room. Carly watched, turning back to Paul in confusion.  
"It's not that big a deal. Really."  
"It is. I can't have people thinking it's okay to insult you, especially if you're going to be seen around with me. Gives both of us a bad image. And I don't like women being insulted."  
"Oh. That makes sense," she said with a look around the room before realizing she was still in her wet clothes.  
"Shit. Um..."  
Brock came back, his knuckles bleeding, and tossed a bag onto the bed.  
"Consider it a present. Go change."  
She walked into the large and well-furnished bathroom and pulled out the clothes.  
And immediately, she stopped short. The tags on the clothes were from Barnaby's, and she knew that the outfit would cost somewhere up to eighty dollars.  
She sighed and stripped out of her wet clothes and heels, placing them in the bag to take home, and put on the outfit. Her hair was still wet though, so she grabbed a towel and dried it, pulling it into a messy ponytail and stepping out of the bathroom.  
She sat on the bed, her eyes following the television screen as she relaxed.  
"Sure you wouldn't like to sit up here?"  
She looked over at Paul, who was patting the space beside him.  
"I um... I don't think that would be a good idea. Image, and all that."  
He looked upset, but quickly brushed it off and shrugged.  
"Something to drink then, Raven-Locks?"  
"What do you have?"  
"Whiskey, cognac, anything your little heart desires."  
"Um... Just an appletini then. I can make it."  
She got off the bed and walked over to the bar, bending down to get the ingredients and mixing glasses.  
Paul's eyes followed her movements unseen, and he took stock of her. She was attractive, but not overly loud about it. She was curvy, but not only in her ass or her breasts. Her figure was fuller than most women, but she wasn't fat. And if his mind wasn't playing tricks on him, she had a rose tattoo on the small of her back that led somewhere he'd very much like to see.  
He was so busy looking at her that he didn't realize his phone was beeping.  
Brock snapped to get his attention and he grabbed the phone, answering it.  
"Heyman. Mhm. Yes. I don't care. He needs to pay his dues to me. Well then I'll have to have a talk with him. Thanks Maddox."  
Paul hung up the phone and looked back to Carly, but she was already straightened up, leaning against the bar and sipping her drink.  
"Everything alright?"  
Not anymore, he thought bitterly. Fucking Maddox always had to ruin things for him.  
"No, just some business I have to take care of. Brock will take you home."  
Carly was taken aback, but kept a straight face.  
"Oh. That's fine... Good luck with your business, then."  
She stood up with a smile and he did the same, taking his hand in hers and pressing it to his lips for the second time.  
"When can I see you again?"  
"When you send for me, of course."  
Paul chuckled.  
"Of course. Goodnight Carly."  
"Goodnight, Don Heyman."


	3. Chapter 3

Paul buttoned up his suit and grabbed his revolver off of the bedside table. The past couple of days had been fun, but now it was time to get down to business. There was a jewelry shop owner on 53rd street who had been shirking on his tributes to Paul, and he was going to handle it personally.  
“Everything alright boss?”  
“Hm? Oh, yes. It’s just time for me to get back to the business at hand, starting with the owner of Dope and Diamonds over on 53rd. Coming along?”  
“Of course, boss,” Brock said with a smirk. As Paul’s loyal enforcer, it was his privilege to get his hands dirty when the situation called for it.  
And luckily, it did today.  
“Don Heyman! What an honor to have you in my store? Have you come to pick out something for that special someone?”  
Paul chuckled sinisterly, walking around the jewelry counter, peering down into it.  
“As much as I’d love to, Alfonso, I’m here on...business. See, every week I take tributes from store owners, but somehow yours is always missing. Can you tell me why that is?”  
Alfonso swallowed hard.  
“Y-you see, business has been hard and I-I have two children… I-I’ve had to stop paying you in order to feed them.”  
Paul looked up at him, his shrewd eyes narrowing as Brock stepped forward.  
“Did, did he just say what I think he said, Brock? Or is my hearing going already? Did he just tell me he stopped paying me?”  
“That’s what I heard, boss.”  
“I wasn’t sure if I heard that correctly. Thank you, Brock.”  
Alfonso was shaking in his shoes, fear emanating from every pore in his body. Brock circled him like a shark, waiting for Paul’s orders.  
Paul held a hand out, silently telling Brock to back off. He grabbed the revolver from his jacket and took out every bullet but two, spinning the chamber and sliding it back into the gun.  
“Have you heard of Russian Roulette, Alfonso?”  
“Y-Yes, D-Don Heyman.”  
“Good. You and Brock here are going to play a little.”  
He handed Brock the revolver and sat in one of the chairs, watching eagerly. Brock took the revolver and pointed it at the man, who was now outright crying.  
“Game on."  
Four blanks later, the store owner was begging and pleading for his life, promising that he’d never forget another payment as long as he was spared.  
Brock handed the gun back to Paul, who shot the owner twice in the chest and gingerly dropped the gun.  
“I hate guns.”  
Brock took the pistol and placed it in his pocket, grabbing an axe from the front door and smashing every glass case in the store.  
Paul looked through the rubble, uninterested, until something caught his eye.  
A gemstone cut into the shape of a heart and lain in a necklace of pure rose-gold. It was perfect for Carly.  
He carefully picked it up and wrapped it in his handkerchief, storing it in his pocket and walking out of the store.  
“Pick anything, Brock, but be quick about it.”  
Paul walked next door to the flower boutique, opening the door. The boutique owner, a lovely young girl of about twenty-two, smiled up at him.  
“Don Heyman! What a pleasure it is to see you. Welcome to my shop.”  
“Hello Melody. I have a question…”

Carly was putting the finishing touches on her makeup when Petey came in with a vase full of orange roses, with a single red bloom in the middle.  
“Present for you.”  
She turned to him, puzzled.  
“Me? Who would be sending me flowers?”  
Petey chuckled and set the vase down.  
“Why, your admirer of course.”  
Confused, she pulled the card from the bouquet, reading it.  
For you, Songbird. You have stolen my heart, now keep it well. ~D.H.  
Carly smiled before something sparkling in the light caught her attention. Her curiosity spiked as she gently pulled it from the flowers, gasping when she realized what it was.  
“A necklace? He got me a necklace?”  
“Like I said, he likes something about you. Orange roses mean desire or fascination, and a single red rose means love and devotion. The necklace is an emerald, which means unconditional love.”  
Carly was stunned, to say the least. Did Paul really love her like Petey said? Or was this all just a trick?  
The necklace itself was shaped like a winged key, with the emerald proudly in the center. If it really all meant what Petey said it did, well, she was going to show Paul that his love was well-deserved.  
“Help me put it on?”

Paul sat in the VIP section of the bar, sipping his rum and coke and waiting for Carly to get onstage. Was she wearing his gift? Had she gotten the roses? What was she wearing? Did it show off that tattoo he’d seen?  
Whistling drew his attention and he looked toward the stage, inhaling his drink as the object of his current thoughts strutted in.  
She was ravishing in a short red fringed mini-dress and platinum heels, proudly wearing the red rose in her hair and, he noted happily, his necklace around her neck. She looked absolutely stunning.  
Brock leaned over and gently nudged his shoulder, grinning.  
“Your girl looks great, boss.”  
“She’s not my girl. Yet.”  
Carly smiled at him and he nodded approvingly, noting the way she blushed when she noticed his eyes roving over her figure.  
She began to sing… And Paul was once again enthralled with her voice.  
“Every Saturday night I get dressed up to ride for you, baby  
Cruising down the street on Hollywood and Vine for you, baby  
I drive fast, wind in my hair, push it to the limits 'cause I just don't care  
You ask me where I've been?  
I been everywhere  
I don't wanna be nowhere but here  
I've got a burning desire for you, baby  
I've got a burning desire  
I've got a burning desire for you, baby  
I drive fast, wind in my hair, push it to the limits 'cause I just don't care  
I've got a burning desire for you, baby  
I've got a burning desire  
Every Saturday night I seem to come alive for you, baby  
Santa Monica, I'm racing in the lights for you, baby  
I drive fast, radio blares, have to touch myself to pretend you're there  
Your hands are on my hips, your name is on my lips  
Over over again, like my only prayer  
Come on tell me boy  
I've got a burning desire for you, baby  
I've got a burning desire for you, baby  
I drive fast, wind in my hair, push it to the limits 'cause I just don't care  
I've got a burning desire for you, baby  
I've got a burning desire  
I'm driving fast, flash, everyone knows it  
I'm trying to get to you, baby  
I'm feeling scared and you know it  
I'm driving fast, flash, everyone knows it  
I'm trying to get to you, baby  
I'm feeling scared and you know it  
I'm driving fast, flash, everyone knows it  
I'm trying to get to you, baby  
I'm feeling scared and you know it  
I'm driving fast, flash, everyone knows it  
I'm trying to get to you, baby  
I'm feeling scared and you know it  
I've got a burning desire for you, baby  
I've got a burning desire for you, baby  
I drive fast, wind in my hair, push it to the limits 'cause I just don't care  
I've got a burning desire for you, baby  
I've got a burning desire”  
As Carly finished her cover of Lana Del Rey’s Burning Desire, her eyes met Paul’s, and they could both see the flame of want in each other. That spark of pure desire that she’d just sang about was evident in the way Paul’s eyes gleamed as he stared at her, and it was so intense that she had to look away, blushing.  
A commotion made her look toward the floor as a drunken patron scrambled onto the stage and gripped her arms, his hot breath fanning over her face. She was frozen.  
Suddenly there was a loud bang, and he dropped to the floor. Carly looked up to see a gun protruding from the crowd, Paul pointing it at the dead body. His eyes were now burning with a fierce rage.  
A fierce, protective rage.  
And Carly passed out.


	4. Chapter 4

_Come to the penthouse. 10:30. Don’t be late._  
That message was the first thing Carly saw when she woke up. She wasn’t quite sure what had happened, or why she’d been on the floor. She was trying to remember what had happened before she passed out. All she could remember was singing and having some guy ambush her and touch her onstage before there was a boom and blood all over the place. And Paul’s face… He was the one who’d shot that guy. He was the one who’d handled things when Petey just stood by. But why kill the man? Why not just throw him out?  
_It’s 10:15, Songbird. Don’t be late._  
Damn, another message. And she only had 15 minutes to get there  
_What, am I supposed to run in heels? I don’t think so, Heyman._  
 _Do I need to send a car?_  
 _That would help._  
 _Expect it shortly. I’ll be wanting you in my room no later than eleven._  
 _You got it._  
Carly slipped off her heels and pulled on a pair of ballet flats, putting the heels in a backpack that she kept backstage for after her shows. She went into the bathroom and changed into the loungewear Paul had given her, washing the makeup off of her face and putting her hair into a ponytail. She wanted to be comfortable.

At precisely 10:30, a car pulled up in front of the club and she got in, setting her bag on the seat beside her.   
“Marquee Hotel, please.”  
 “I know where to go, Carly.”  
 She looked up at Brock and giggled. “I didn’t realize he was sending you, Brock. I’m not supposed to be late, so you better hurry.”  
 Brock chuckled and pulled out onto the street. “Did you fall asleep or something?”   
"I passed out. Weren’t you there?”  
“You’re right, good point.”  
Carly giggled and rummaged through the ice bin, locating a miniature bottle of pear vodka and swigging it.

Before long, they pulled up to the hotel and Brock opened the door for her. She thanked him and made her way inside, climbing onto the elevator and pressing the button for the penthouse.  In three short minutes, she was standing in front of his door, nervous.  Just as she was about to knock, the door swung open, and there he was. Slightly disheveled, his suit rumpled, and a glass of whiskey in his left hand.   
"Songbird.”  
“Don Heyman. May I come in?”   
“Certainly,” he said as he moved aside to let her pass. She settled herself on the bed and looked at him, her eyes bright from the vodka.   
"I suppose you’re going to explain why tonight happened the way it did.”   
"You were being accosted by a drunk patron and your dimwitted friend was sitting on his ass not doing anything about it.”  
“Petey is not dimwitted.”  
A short huff and Paul sipped his drink, irritated.  
"...my apologies, Miss DeSilva. I did not mean to offend you.”  
Carly acquiesced and smiled blindingly at him.   
"Apology accepted.”   
“Would you like a drink?”   
She chuckled and stood up, going back to the minibar.  “I can get my own.”   
"I’m aware of that, but let’s enjoy something a bit more extravagant. Say, champagne?” he said graciously, hoping to make up for his disparaging comment.   
"Champagne sounds lovely, Don Heyman.”  
“Miss DeSilva, I think we can do away with the formalities, don’t you agree?”   
Carly blinked, looked at him with a mix of confusion and shock, and swallowed hard.  
“E-excuse me?”   
"I said,” he murmured, leaning forward in his chair and peering into her jade eyes, “I think we can do away with the formalities, don’t you agree?”   
Those eyes he found himself lost in closed, and her lips parted slightly as she tried to combat the waves of arousal that were currently assaulting her. His voice had dropped to a near whisper and the sound of it made her feel something low in the pit of her stomach.   
“Carly…?”   
"Yes…”   
“I’m waiting for an answer,” he purred.   
She blinked and shook her head, cheeks flaming as she tried not to let him know the effect his voice had on her.  
“I-I think that would be reasonable.”  
He chuckled.   
"Is there something wrong, Carly?”  
She swallowed hard, trying to get herself under control before she spoke.  
"N-no."  
"Are you sure? You seem a bit distracted."  
He laid his hand on her thigh and she closed her eyes.  
"I-I'm fine."  
Paul leaned in closer and she could smell his Issey Miyake cologne, intoxicating and inviting. So she allowed her knee to rest against his and leaned closer, just the way he'd done. The two of them were so close they could kiss if he would just dip his head, or if she lifted hers and moved forward just slightly.  
The scent of whiskey from his breath fanned over her face and she couldn’t think, or move, or even speak.  
Was he going to kiss her?  
He was about to lower his head and kiss her, his lips just inches from hers until a knock on the door interrupted them.  
Carly was irritated. He looked at her in apology and stood, crossing the room and opening the door to reveal that it was room service with their champagne.  
She excused herself to the bathroom and quickly made her way in, closing and locking the door behind her. He had almost kissed her! She had almost kissed him! What was she doing? Was she losing her mind?  
“Carly?”  
“Just a moment,” she half-yelled as she leaned her head against the cool metal of the door. She needed to catch her breath. Her body was on fire, and she was dizzy.  
She splashed water on her face and dried it with the towel hanging next to the sink before opening the door and giving Paul a quick grin.  
“Now, how about that champagne?”

They drank and talked into the night, Paul graciously refilling Carly’s glass and his own until about 4:30 in the morning. She was becoming tired and intoxicated, both of which were a bad combination. He realized this and told Brock to book the room next to theirs for her.  
Brock carried her to the room and laid her on the bed, taking off her shoes as Paul made sure all of her things were in order. After they were done, Brock left to take a small nap and Paul stayed next to her bed, giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek.  
“Goodnight, Carly.”


End file.
